


Smoking Gun

by Doomfang



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doomfang/pseuds/Doomfang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardy has found the final piece of evidence and is chasing the Sandbrook-murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoking Gun

The dark corridor in front of him was empty. All sounds had been sucked up by the walls. He could only hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Rhythmically and drowning everything else.

_Listen to the footsteps_ , he told himself. _Dammit. Get yourself under control!_

Hardy inhaled deeply with his mouth open trying not to make a sound himself. He knew Ashworth was in here. He had seen him enter this abandoned building not ten minutes ago. And he had the final evidence to lock him up for good.

Since the Sandbrook case was officially reopened Ashworth was on the run. Unbeknownst to him his files of private investigation had given Hardy the clue where to find the new evidence. This time he had secured the smoking gun, as he liked to think of it. It was still as hot as the day Ashworth had killed Lisa and Pippa. Hardy had known from the start that he was the killer. Now he could finally prove it and all that was left to do was to arrest him.

When he reached the corner at the far end of the corridor he slowly exhaled, trying to calm his pulse. The gun in his hand became heavier the longer he held it. He didn't like to use it, hold it even. When he had taken it out of his drawer this afternoon he didn't have time to clear off all the dust. But then he didn't expect the need to use it. Still he was literally clinging onto it for dear life. Ashworth had to be here somewhere and God knows what he was capable of.

Hardy heard his footsteps running away from him just a minute ago. But now there was just silence. The drumming in his head became unbearable so he stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. His grip around the gun loosened a bit and he noticed his sweaty palms.

There was a stir in the air. Just the tiniest brush against his cheek. But it let him startle. It was only a split second too late as he realized when he turned his head. The cold hard metal of a gun pressed against his left temple.

_No._

He froze.

His heart was beating at an impossible speed anticipating the end. He didn’t breathe. _It could not end like this._ He had had dinner with one murderer and now he was at the mercy of another one? Hardy closed his eyes bracing himself for the darkness.

In his mind he could see his daughter. _Daisy._ She was wearing her favourite white dress, smiling at him. Her red hair gleamed in the sunlight. She looked so sweet and innocent. Blissfully ignorant to the horrors of the world he had tried to keep away from her. But then her smile turned into a grimace ordering him: “Drop the gun!”

Hardy didn’t react, too confused by the harsh words out of his daughter’s mouth. The gun on his head was pushed forward, painfully turning his tense head an inch to the right.

“Drop. the. gun. now!”

Weakly he opened his shaking fingers, letting the gun slide. The clanging sound of it hitting the floor woke him from his frozen state. He was here to finally catch the Sandbrook-killer. Hardy had seen him entering the building.

But that voice… it didn’t belong to Ashworth.

 

“Claire?” he croaked, his mouth dry as ashes.

The cool metal left his temple, allowing him to turn his head. He had trouble focusing on what lay before him. There was the barrel of the gun, small and dark and directly pointed at his head. But beyond he could see a pair of unforgiving pale green eyes. He knew them well. They had greeted him with a twinkle every day for the last seven months. Winking at him whenever they found her favourite chocolate in the grocery bags. Now they were narrow, all friendliness wiped from them.

“Wha-?” he whispered unable to connect the dots in his head.

“Shut up!” Claire barked at him. “Put your hands where I can see them!”

His heart was beating faster than he had ever felt it. But his mind flushed with adrenaline was clear.

“Claire.” He began slowly, carefully. “Is Ashworth making you do this?”

Her gaze shifted a little. What was that in her eyes? Disbelief? Amusement?

“Good Lord, Alec… Are you really that daft? Now be a good boy and put your handcuffs on, willya?”

There was no playfulness in her voice now. Hardy carefully raised his right hand. Weighing each word in his head he said:

“Claire. Let me help. You don’t have to do this.”

“DON’T YOU BLOODY MOVE!”

He froze again, his hand hanging in midair. “Claire…”, he begged now quietly.

Expertly pointing the gun at the hallway, she shot into the empty space. She didn't flinch, but Hardy cringed. The sound echoed off the walls, mixing with the drumming in his head. Claire’s hand was still when she pressed the gun against his forehead once more.

Hardy's view blurred. He had lost whatever little bit of control he had had over the situation or himself. He could feel the adrenaline slowly leaving him. The grip around his chest tightened and he struggled to keep Claire in sight. Strangely the gun pressed to his forehead gave him a point to focus on. It was the only thing that made him keep his balance.

“This is your last chance, Alec.” Claire’s words were quiet. But they reached him sharp and clear. Sweat trickled down his back. “I appreciate what you did for me and I hate to do this. But do not think I am bluffing. You will give me the keys and then handcuff yourself. Do it now! Slowly!”

There was nothing left to say. His mind was blank except for that one thought slowly swimming to the surface.

_I was wrong._

Defeated he complied. The clicking locks on the cuffs echoed in the empty hallway.

_I was wrong and now there is nothing I can do to fix it._

A powerful punch on his chest was the last thing he felt before the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I mixed up "badass-Gwen-Cooper" with Claire Ripley here... :)  
> 


End file.
